A Losing Battle
by Helena L
Summary: A sort-of-sequel to 'A Beautiful Friendship', set during the last days of the Mandalorian Wars. Revan's forces are close to victory, but he himself faces a harder struggle - one which could ultimately destroy him... (Now complete.)
1. Part 1

**Part 1**

_Revan_.  
  
The voice was barely audible, on the very edge of his consciousness, but it was enough to jerk him out of the half-sleeping state he had sunk into without even realising. "Yes?" he called out automatically, his eyes darting around the dimly-lit room. There was no one there, and not a sound to be heard except the faint, ever-present drone of the ventilation system.  
  
He sat up, rubbing his eyes. Had someone really whispered his name? Of course not, it had been an illusion, a product of his own overtired and agitated mind. It had been happening more and more often, lately... He sighed and lay back, shivering slightly despite the warmth of the room.  
  
He couldn't remember when he had last slept well, or woken up feeling truly refreshed. Night after restless night he would toss and turn for hours in his bed, trying to find a comfortable position, always either too hot or too cold. Meditation didn't help – every time he tried to clear his mind the thoughts would come rushing back, a thousand fears and memories overwhelming his attempts to calm himself. He couldn't find peace now, even in the Force...  
  
Even when he eventually drifted off to sleep it would come only in short bursts, filled with shadowy figures and crying voices. And faces – enemies he had killed, friends he had seen die in front of him, people he had tried to save and failed... When he awoke he would feel more tired than ever, his body aching all over, his limbs heavy as lead.  
  
Despite his attempts to hide how ill he felt, he knew that the effects of these sleepless nights were beginning to show. His friends were starting to look at him with concern, and a few had even approached him about it – but he brushed aside their well-meaning enquiries, insisting that there was nothing wrong. He didn't really feel he could confide in anyone – not even Malak, his closest friend. Besides, Malak himself had seemed somewhat distant and preoccupied lately.  
  
Revan knew how the other Jedi looked up to him, even those far older than he was. He was their leader, their hero, who had single-handedly changed the course of a war that threatened to destroy the Republic. How could he tell them that he now slept with the light on like a child, because he feared what he saw in the shadows? That he felt as if he were staring down into a gaping abyss, fighting a losing battle against the invisible forces dragging him gradually, inexorably closer to the edge?  
  
"Revan, you need a rest." That had been the blunt assessment put forward by Admiral Dodonna, leader of the Republic's military forces, when he had last seen her. He had managed to dissuade her, even as he realised in his heart that she was right. There was nothing he would like more than to return to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant and simply collapse, letting the calm and peace of the Light Side wash over him, feeling the Force cleanse him of the darkness that boiled up within him. But he couldn't leave the war now, just as it was drawing to a close – the troops needed him, the Republic needed him. He had to finish what he had started.  
  
He smiled faintly. In his mind's eye he could see himself as he had been at the start of the war – the confident, idealistic young man, filled with energy and an almost religious fervour as he begged for recruits to his noble cause. Only four years ago, but it felt more like four decades. What had happened to him since then?  
  
Reality had intruded, that was what. The man who had spent most of his life at a training academy on a peaceful Outer Rim planet had suddenly found himself responsible for countless millions of lives – soldiers, civilians, other Jedi. He had been forced to make agonising, impossible decisions, and to see their effects first-hand. Tactics that he would once have found horrifying – playing games of numbers, balancing a few thousand lives lost against another few thousand saved, abandoning and sacrificing entire worlds for the sake of a strategic victory – had now become almost routine.  
  
What would the Revan of four years ago think of his future self? He shivered again. Probably best to avoid thinking about it, and keep telling himself as always that the end justified the means, that all the deaths would be worth it when the war was finally won. If he could only remember what he was fighting for any more...  
  
He rolled over again, wincing in pain as the mattress rubbed against a bruise on his side. A month or so ago, during an undercover mission on a deserted planet suspected of harbouring a Mandalorian communications base, he and the other soldiers with him had been ambushed and captured. Luckily his captors hadn't realised who he was, and he had managed to escape – but not before suffering a severe beating. Even after weeks of medical treatment, the wounds had still not entirely healed.  
  
Since then, the panicked Republic high command had barely let him out of their sight. He had been refused permission to participate in any further combat or reconnaissance missions; instead he was confined to one of the capital ships, helping to direct battles and offering tactical advice to both subordinate and superior officers. Although he had reluctantly accepted that it was for the best, knowing that the Republic could not afford to lose him at this stage, he constantly chafed against the restrictions placed on him. Despite all his training, patience had never been one of Revan's virtues - he wanted to be out there with the other Jedi, in the thick of battle, not sitting in a command centre issuing orders from on high.  
  
But the war was coming to an end, and he was determined that he would not be left out of the final battle. The Mandalorians were a warrior race, and to them surrender was worse than death; he knew that they would fight on to the bitter end, refusing to yield until they were utterly crushed and annihilated. And what was more, he knew there was one person whom he alone could defeat.  
  
_Mandalore_. Revan felt his fists clench involuntarily as the image of his arch-enemy rose before him, as it had done so many times before. This was the man who had unleashed death and destruction on an unimaginable scale throughout the Outer Rim, pounding helpless worlds into dust for the sake of his twisted ideas of 'honour' and 'glory'. This was the man responsible for the countless massacres and atrocities he had witnessed, for the images and sounds that had seared themselves into his brain and would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life. The man who had turned him into what he was today.  
  
_"A Jedi does not hate."_ A short, bitter laugh escaped Revan's lips as he mouthed the words which no longer held any meaning for him. As he pursued Mandalore ever more relentlessly, hatred had turned to loathing and loathing to an all-consuming obsession, an obsession which remained long after the horrors he saw almost daily had lost their ability to shock him. If there was one thing that sustained his will to fight after all this time, it was the desire to see this man finally destroyed – to make him pay for what he had done to the Republic, to the Jedi, and to him.  
  
A wave of exhaustion rolled over him and he sank back, closing his eyes. Once he had defeated Mandalore, he would be able to rest at last... His thoughts blurred and ran together as sleep began to overtake him. Just a few more weeks and it would all be over, and he could return to Coruscant. He and Malak would be welcomed as heroes, and the Council would have to forgive their transgressions... perhaps then he could finally be at peace again...  
  
He slept. Cheering crowds surrounded him as he walked through the streets of Coruscant; planes roared triumphantly overhead, friends waved at him as he passed, and he saw his former Master smiling proudly. But as he came closer the smiles gradually faded and twisted into expressions of terror; cheers turned to screams, and the crowds turned and fled in panic, shrieking and pushing and falling over each other in their desperate attempt to get away. He woke up shaking, the brief flicker of hope extinguished; all that remained was darkness, loneliness and despair at the prospect of having to face another day.


	2. Part 2

A/N: One more chapter to come. Please, please review - even if it's just to say you hate it! There's nothing more depressing than spending hours and hours on a story and getting no reviews.

In case anyone is confused by what I write about Revan and Bastila in this chapter, my version of their relationship prior to KOTOR is set out in my previous story, 'A Beautiful Friendship.'

**

* * *

****Part 2  
**  
A frantic knocking on the door of Revan's cabin jolted him awake, brutally interrupting a few hours of badly-needed sleep. Swearing under his breath, he dragged himself out of his bed and stumbled towards the door, without bothering to put on his robe. It slid open to reveal a young Jedi - a Padawan by the looks of him – who appeared to have arrived in a considerable hurry. He stood for a moment in silence, trying to catch his breath, his entire body radiating nervous excitement.  
  
"Yes, what is it?" Revan spoke sharply, not even attempting to conceal his annoyance. The young man remembered himself and bowed hurriedly.  
  
"Forgive me, Master Revan, I'm sorry to wake you." He took a deep breath and continued. "But Commander Malak is here - he says he needs to speak to you immediately..."  
  
Revan blinked. "Malak?" He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to clear the fog of sleep from his head. "I thought he was in another sector..."  
  
"He only just arrived, sir. He's waiting in the command centre." The Padawan gestured vaguely towards the elevator at the end of the corridor. "He said he has important news about our operations..."  
  
Revan didn't wait to hear any more. He grabbed his robe, yanked it around himself and strode off, pausing only to murmur a brief "Thank you, Padawan" as he passed the other Jedi. The young man stared after him in faint amusement as he practically ran down the corridor towards the elevator.  
  
A minute later he burst through the door of the ship's operations centre, pale and out of breath. The Republic officers manning the control panels barely even glanced at him; by now they were used to seeing Revan storm into the room in the midst of some crisis, dressed only in nightclothes and a robe. However, the tall, thin Jedi who stood in the middle of the room swung round to greet him as he entered.  
  
"Revan!" A slightly guilty look crossed Malak's face as he grasped his friend's hand warmly. "I'm really sorry about this – I forgot that you might still be in bed..."  
  
Revan shook his head impatiently. "Never mind that; tell me what's happened!"  
  
"Hey, calm down." Malak raised his hands in a reassuring gesture. "It's not bad news." He smiled slightly and then, seeing that his friend still looked worried, continued. "You know that we've been in a standoff against the Mandalorians around Dxun for the past four days?  
  
Revan nodded. "I thought Admiral Dodonna was sending reinforcements –"  
  
"She doesn't need to. It's over." Malak's face broke into a grin. "One of the Mandalorian commanders panicked and ordered the ships under his command to attack - I guess he thought we weren't prepared." He paused for effect. "Well, we were. My fleet engaged them and we managed to break through their defences and attack the planet. We destroyed their communications centre before they could sort themselves out and organise a counter-attack."  
  
"What? When did this happen?" Revan stared at him in astonishment and confusion. "I never heard anything about it."  
  
"It started about 14 hours ago. We're still mopping up, but we've taken control of the planet and destroyed most of the Mandalorian fleet." His smile faded a little. "Though I'm afraid we've taken quite heavy casualties."  
  
Revan sank down into a chair, trying to take in what he had just heard. "And I take it you've informed the Admiral?"  
  
"Yes, but I said that I wanted tell you in person." Malak's face brightened again. "I left for hyperspace as soon as possible after I heard what had happened."  
  
"Then..." Revan gazed up at the holographic star chart in the centre of the room. "Then that's almost the last of their bases! There's only Malachor V left and my forces have them surrounded..." His voice trailed off as he stared intently at the mass of small green and red shapes representing friendly and hostile forces.  
  
"That's right." Malak took a step forward; normally the calmer and more cautious of the two, he could not disguise the slight quiver of excitement in his voice as he spoke. "We've won, Revan."  
  
"Hold it." Revan snapped out of his reverie; suddenly he was Revan the military leader once more, detached and pragmatic. "Let's not get overconfident – Mandalore's on that moon and he's not going to give up without a fight." He turned back to the star chart. "I suggest we launch an attack as quickly as possible, before they try to break through our lines and escape."  
  
Malak nodded in agreement. "Very well. The rest of my fleet should have arrived within another 24 hours." He smiled at his friend. "Shall I leave it up to you to ask the Admiral for permission?" 

**........**

"You want to launch the attack immediately?" There was a faint trace of concern in Admiral Dodonna's face. "Are you sure you don't need more troops, Revan? I can get reinforcements to you within 48 hours –"  
  
"I think it would be better to attack quickly, Admiral," explained the Jedi. "The Mandalorians must be getting desperate – it's best that we finish them off before they have time to formulate an escape plan."  
  
"Well, you must do as you think best. You haven't failed us yet, Revan." She smiled at him and he looked down modestly. "Is there anything else?"  
  
He raised his eyes again. "Well... there is one thing..." She waited as he swallowed and breathed in deeply, clearly somewhat uncomfortable. "I would like to lead the assault myself, Admiral."  
  
"What, in person?"  
  
He nodded. "Along with Malak, of course."  
  
She pursed her lips and sighed. "Well, I suppose I can hardly deny you this after all you've done for us. Just... take care of yourself, that's all. And get some sleep beforehand, you look absolutely shattered."  
  
It was his turn to smile. "Yes, Mother." He heard her laugh as the hologram flickered and disappeared.  
  
Malak was waiting for him outside the communications room. "Well?"  
  
"Yes." He inclined his head slightly towards the room. "She's given us the go-ahead."  
  
"This is it, then." Malak grinned somewhat nervously. "Twenty-four hours. How do you feel?"  
  
"I..." Suddenly Revan realised just how tired he was. He felt... numb, that was the only way to describe it. Could it really be that this was all, finally, coming to an end? "I'm not sure. I just want to get it over with, really."  
  
Malak looked sympathetic. "Well, don't we all? These past few months have been hell." He shrugged. "It's a pity you couldn't persuade Bastila Shan to join us – she might have made things a lot easier."  
  
"Well, I couldn't, so it's no use complaining about it." Revan's voice was uncharacteristically sharp. "What did you want me to do, use a mind-trick on her?"  
  
His friend looked at him in surprise. "Well, there's no need to get so defensive. I was just saying."  
  
"I'm sorry," muttered Revan wearily. "I... look, I'm going back to bed." His face looked tired and strained. "Goodnight, Malak."

**........**

Revan removed his robe and flopped down onto the bed. Alone in the room with nothing but his own thoughts, he felt the dark clouds of depression begin to envelop him once more. Bastila Shan! Why did someone always have to remind him of her?  
  
Revan had had a few lovers. He had long since abandoned any scruples where the Jedi Code was concerned, and it was not difficult to find women who were willing to do the same, even among his fellow Jedi. But they had mostly been casual girlfriends, attracted by his fame, power and good looks, but not interested in a serious relationship. This had not been a problem for him; the last thing he needed at the moment was to fall in love.  
  
Bastila, however, was different. They had known each other since they were children; he had trained her in the use of the Force while he was still a Padawan. As a young girl she had adored him, regarding him almost as an older brother; and despite the difference in their ages, she was one of the few people he felt able to confide in when he had fallen out of favour with the Council.  
  
He had not forgotten her, even after the war started. And then, a couple of months ago, he had got to hear of her newly-discovered talent for Battle Meditation. Secretly returning to Dantooine in an attempt to persuade her to use her abilities in the service of the Republic's fleet, he had found that the shy teenage girl he remembered had become a beautiful woman – a woman who cared for him as a person, rather than as the great hero of the Republic. And he had realised, with sudden and painfully startling clarity, that he loved her.  
  
And what was more, he knew that she loved him. He cringed at the memory of how he had manipulated her into admitting it; he was not proud of his behaviour that night. But what stung far more was that he had begged her to come with him, laying bare a vulnerability he could never have revealed to anyone else – and though he could sense that she longed to give in to him, she had refused. He had come so close, and yet he had seen the fear in her eyes even as he held her in his arms – she believed he was falling to the Dark Side...  
  
He had left, angry and bitter, vowing to forget her. And yet, again and again the thought of her would steal treacherously back into his mind, even as he tried to concentrate on other things. Occasionally he would see her in his dreams – her face, her voice, everything about her seeming so real that he would wake up aching to hold her, longing for the comfort that her touch would bring.  
  
He groaned as he realised he had been daydreaming about her yet again. Whatever had happened to the self-control he was supposed to have learned as a Jedi? These days, it seemed that he had no control whatsoever over his emotions or even his own thoughts. He shook himself angrily; he had no time for this, there were more important things to think about right now. Moping over Bastila was no way to prepare himself for a battle.  
  
He gazed over at HK-47, the droid he was constructing as one of his few distractions from his military duties. He had always enjoyed building droids; they did exactly what you programmed them to do, and they didn't judge you or talk back to you – unless you wanted them to, of course. He wondered idly if he could program the droid to provide some kind of psychological assistance; at the very least it would be someone he could talk to, someone to whom he could express his innermost thoughts without fearing the consequences.  
  
But all this was idle speculation; he might not even be alive this time tomorrow... Suddenly an icy shudder ran through him, and just for a second he felt an overwhelming sensation of dread – a raw fear that he had never felt before, even when he was lying chained up in a filthy cell at the mercy of his Mandalorian captors. A moment later it had passed, leaving him with only a faint sense of unease and apprehension.  
  
The Force? He closed his eyes, trying to sense any danger that lay ahead, but it was no use – fatigue and a maelstrom of emotions were clouding his perceptions, preventing him from gaining any insight into what was to come. He sighed and shrugged off the feeling; what would be would be, and he would know his fate soon enough. For now, all he needed was to sleep. 


	3. Part 3

A/N: I know I said there would be one more chapter last time, but I ended up writing rather more than I expected. So there will be one more after this.

Sorry about the lack of detail in the battle scenes, but I don't tend to read that kind of stuff so I had to improvise...

**

* * *

**

Part 3  
  
"Soldiers and Jedi of the Republic..."  
  
Revan's voice rang out, clear and powerful, above the low hum of whispered conversation. A sudden hush descended over the enormous hangar, packed to the rafters with pilots, soldiers and Jedi of all ranks, where the leader of the Republic's forces had come to rally his troops for the final battle. The speech was to be broadcast to every ship in the fleet – and on an open frequency, so that it could easily be picked up by the besieged Mandalorians. In Revan's opinion, a little psychological warfare would not go amiss.  
  
He had always had a tremendous gift for public speaking. The ability to hold an audience spellbound, captivating and inspiring the hearts and minds of even the most cynical observers, came to him almost as naturally as breathing. The assembled troops listened in awed, respectful silence as he described the immense task ahead and the tremendous dangers they faced, his voice resounding with passion and conviction as he spoke of courage and honour, liberty and justice. Words which had probably meant something to him, once...  
  
"...And may the Force be with you all." The room exploded with applause as the last few words echoed round the walls and died away. Revan bowed slightly before turning to leave the hall, the roar of cheering still ringing in his ears as he walked down the corridor. Nothing was left to do; it was time to finish this, once and for all.  
  
One word that Revan had not mentioned in his speech was 'revenge'. He had not spoken of how Mandalore was to be dealt with, were he to be captured alive by the Republic. Such considerations would be pointless, because he knew that he was going to kill him.

**........**

It was nearly eight hours later. The battle still raged fiercely above Malachor V, tearing the skies apart with explosions and laser fire. The Mandalorian fleet, surrounded and heavily outnumbered, were fighting with a ferocity and tenacity that belied their desperate situation – launching furious counter-attacks in the face of overwhelming odds, searching frantically for a way of escape or simply struggling to hold their position.  
  
But they struggled in vain. Slowly, relentlessly, the Republic's forces were pushing inwards, driving the beleaguered Mandalorians back towards the large moon which housed the last of their bases. Revan sat motionless in front of the holographic tactical map, his eyes riveted on the constantly shifting pattern of ships, searching continuously for any chink in his enemies' armour which might allow his forces to gain an advantage. Every order he gave was immediately obeyed; his ships moved in perfect coordination with Malak's, moving instantly to counter any flaw in the Republic's defences and exploit any weakness in those of the Mandalorians.  
  
And, suddenly, something snapped. One of the Mandalorian squadron leaders, sensing the hopelessness of the situation as the Republic's fighters drew ever closer to the capital ships, finally lost his nerve. Ordering his troops to retreat, he broadcast a desperate message of surrender to the nearby Republic ships, begging them to take him prisoner before he was killed by his own men. His fighters were left in disarray, some attempting to follow him, others determined to fight on to the end. But it was too late for them; already a Republic squadron was bearing down on them, cutting a swathe through the last few ships foolish enough to resist. They had broken the Mandalorian lines at last.

**........**

The ground assault had been almost too easy. After the capital ships had surrounded the planet, pounding the Mandalorian communications towers and demolishing their air defences, the Republic troops – Revan at their head – had made short work of the remaining battalions on the surface. The ground was littered with the broken remains of Mandalorian battle droids, scorched and shattered by the Force; any troops left alive had been taken prisoner or fled into the hills, pursued by vengeful Republic soldiers.  
  
But one of them had slipped away, towards the one of the battered buildings that had housed the Mandalorian high command. A cloaked figure gazed after him, smiling slightly, before wandering off in pursuit. Eventually, he too vanished into the darkness.  
  
Revan crept through the deserted corridors of the bombed-out control centre, stealthy and silent as a cat stalking its prey. Despite the murky gloom inside the building, he moved with confidence; any Jedi child knew how to use the Force to penetrate the darkness. Neither was he afraid of ambush; he could sense only one living being nearby, and he had a very good idea of who it was.  
  
The faint ripples in the Force grew more and more powerful as he approached his target, until he could sense his exact position. The man was strong in the Force, as he had suspected. Finally he paused, a few steps away from the door to the central control room.  
  
"_You can't hide from me, Mandalore._" He spoke in a low growl, just loud enough to be heard by anyone inside the room.  
  
A harsh, strident laugh cut through the silent darkness. "Hide? Who said I was hiding?" The voice was a deep rasp which resounded off the empty walls, momentarily startling Revan with its sheer force. "I knew you would want to settle this one to one, Revan. A bit fairer than your thousands of troops versus the tattered remnants of my forces, perhaps?"  
  
Revan's saber ignited with a sharp hiss, its brilliant glow casting weirdly- shaped shadows across the walls of the room ahead. "Don't give me that, Mandalore. _You_ attacked the Republic, not the other way round. You never held back from attacking worlds that had no way of defending themselves." His voice crackled with barely-suppressed anger.  
  
The deep laugh rang out again, quieter, but no less arrogant. "Say what you like about my tactics, Revan. You seemed quite happy to adopt most of them yourself." Now Revan could see his enemy dimly through the shadows; he was a tall, heavily-built man, wearing standard Mandalorian armour, but without a helmet. His face, lined and scarred from a hundred previous battles, was twisted into an insolent grin. "How many of those worlds did you yourself abandon in order to gain a strategic victory?"  
  
Revan felt a sudden burst of rage. "You _bastard_," he hissed through clenched teeth. "If I used those tactics it was because I had to, not because I wanted to. I did it for the Republic, not for power or glory or some sick notion of honour –"  
  
"Oh yes, of course. For the sake of the poor, oppressed citizens of the Republic." Mandalore snorted. "Come off it, Revan. You're not here for the Republic, you're here because you want to win. You're a warrior at heart yourself, just like I am –"  
  
"Oh, no. Don't even think about starting on that 'we're not so different really' crap, Mandalore." Revan took a step forward. "Let's just get this over with; I didn't come here to chat."  
  
"Fine. Let's see if you're as good at hand-to-hand combat as you are at tactics." Without warning, Mandalore raised the blaster pistols he held in each hand, sending a barrage of energy blasts towards his opponent. But the Jedi was too quick for him; his saber moved in a dazzling arc of light, easily deflecting each bolt back towards his enemy, where they bounced harmlessly off his energy shield.  
  
"Too easy," he muttered through gritted teeth.  
  
Mandalore laughed. "Just testing your reflexes." He ceased firing and tossed the pistols aside. Revan leapt at him, a blur of speed, but he threw himself aside with astonishing rapidity considering the heavy armour he was wearing. Regaining his balance, Revan whipped round just in time to see Mandalore bearing down on him, a vibrosword slashing at his face –  
  
The two weapons screeched as they clashed together. Revan lunged at his opponent, momentarily driving him back, but his advantage did not last long. Mandalore quickly recovered, striking back with a vigour that forced his opponent to use every ounce of energy and concentration to defend himself.  
  
They fought on and on, first one gaining the upper hand for a moment, then the other, but neither managing to gain a decisive advantage. Mandalore's superior strength was perfectly balanced against Revan's greater agility; even with the aid of the Force, which allowed him to foresee and counter every move his opponent made, it was all the Jedi could do to hold his own against him. Despite himself, he couldn't help feeling a tinge of admiration – no wonder that this man had risen to the head of the most feared warrior race in the galaxy...  
  
Revan let the Force take control of his body, his movements becoming almost automatic as he attempted to clear his mind for thought. It was obvious that he could not win in this manner; with the help of the Force his strength could probably outlast Mandalore's, but who knew how long that would take? One mistake would doom him. If only he had time to use a Force attack... Suddenly a vague memory struck him, a recollection of another duel he had fought long ago...  
  
Suddenly Mandalore realised, rather to his surprise, that his opponent was faltering. His breathing was growing shallow and laboured, his movements were ever so slightly slower. A grin of triumph began to spread over his face as he redoubled his efforts, forcing the Jedi to retreat until his back was almost touching the wall. Just for a moment, he thought he saw a flash of panic in the other man's eyes.  
  
Seizing his momentary advantage, he thrust his sword at Revan's chest. The Jedi struck out wildly with his saber, just barely managing to block the attack, but the edge of Mandalore's blade grazed his arm as the two weapons scraped apart. He gasped, flinching in pain as his adversary raised his sword for the killing blow. Mandalore paused for a moment, savouring the look of fear in Revan's face, then sliced viciously downwards –  
  
And met only empty air. It took him only a second to realise what had happened, but it was a second too long. As he wheeled round he had just enough time to see Revan raise his arm in a calm, fluid motion, before a blast of Force energy lifted him off his feet and hurled him against the opposite wall.  
  
There was a sickening crack as Mandalore's body struck the wall. The sword flew from his hand and he slid to the ground, limp. Revan walked up to the motionless body and knelt down beside it, holding his saber only millimetres from the man's throat. "Had enough, Mandalore?" he asked grimly.  
  
With some difficulty, Mandalore raised his head to look up at his victorious opponent. He was clearly in pain, but to Revan's surprise, there was no malice in his face. "Not bad, Jedi," he wheezed, grinning weakly. "Not bad at all. You should have been a Mandalorian yourself..."  
  
"If that's supposed to be a compliment, don't bother." Revan's voice was filled with contempt. "You Mandalorians think you're the only people in the galaxy who know how to fight? Look around you." He flung out a hand. "Your fleet is destroyed, your men are dead, your last base is gone. You're finished, Mandalore."  
  
Mandalore shrugged. "So be it..." Despite the pain in his face, he was still smiling faintly. "There is no shame in losing to you, Revan. You are a worthy opponent..."  
  
"A worthy opponent?" Revan stared at him in disbelief. Did he think this was some type of _game_? All those people dead, all those lives destroyed... Cold fury swept over him. He straightened up and raised his saber above him, plunging it down into Mandalore's ribs, watching it cut through the heavy armour like a knife through butter.  
  
"What is it, Mandalore?" he snarled, relishing the expression of shock in his enemy's face. "Did you expect mercy because I'm a Jedi?" He bent over and grabbed the man by the hair, pulling his face close to his own. "Have you _any_ idea what it's like to feel the destruction of an entire planet through the Force? Millions of people screaming in terror and agony... That's what you put me through, Mandalore, over and over again..." His voice shook with rage. "That's why I swore to destroy you... you _scum_. Every single one of you..."  
  
"Then... then kill me, _Jedi_." Even though Mandalore could hardly speak, the tone of his voice was clear – it was scornful, almost mocking. "If... you have the courage to..."  
  
Revan hardly knew what happened next. As if in a dream he saw his hands rise up in front of him, his fists clutching at the empty air. He felt the Force energy surge through him, the blast of lightning coursing from his fingertips into the piece of meat in front of him. He felt the terrifying, intoxicating sense of power as the last dregs of Force energy drained from Mandalore's body, watching him writhe in pain, howling like an animal –  
  
"Revan?" The spell was broken. Revan spun round, only to find himself staring into the pale, shocked face of his best friend.  
  
"Malak..." He gasped, stumbling backwards, staring at his hands as if they were some kind of alien life form, then at the lifeless body in front of him. He looked as if he had just woken from some kind of terrible nightmare, only to discover that it was real. "Malak, _what have I done_?"  
  
Malak rushed over to him. "Revan, it's OK..." The man was shaking; he saw the blood that had soaked through his sleeve. "Don't worry about him. He deserved it..." Revan was still staring blankly ahead, almost paralysed with horror.  
  
"Come on." Malak put an arm round his friend's shoulders, gently steering him towards the exit. He made no attempt to resist. "Come on," he repeated, as soothingly as possible. "Let's get out of here..."  
  
The two of them slowly retreated down the corridor, leaving Mandalore's corpse behind them. 


	4. Part 4

**Part 4**  
  
In the heart of the abandoned Mandalorian barracks that now served as a temporary headquarters for the Republic army, Malak paced the floor for the hundredth time in the last half hour. Muffled explosions could still be heard off in the distance, where Republic troops were attempting to wipe out the last remnants of the Mandalorian forces, but these were the least of his concerns. He had other things to worry about.  
  
Chief among these was Revan. Since his fateful encounter with Mandalore, he had not said a word; indeed, he had barely acknowledged anyone else's existence. He had sat there motionless and silent as army medics attended to his wounds, staring blankly ahead of him as if hypnotised. Afterwards he had retreated to a back room, indicating with a slight wave of the hand that he wished to be left alone.  
  
For obvious reasons, Malak was concerned about his friend's mental state, but his problems went further than this. To put it bluntly, had no idea what to do. Soon, he knew, important decisions would have to be made – particularly concerning the Mandalorian prisoners they had captured – and Revan was clearly in no state to take them.  
  
Malak had already had to stall Admiral Dodonna, telling her semi-truthfully that Revan was slightly wounded and still undergoing treatment. He hoped his friend would soon have recovered enough to speak to her, but he couldn't keep waiting indefinitely. Should he assume command himself? Ask the Admiral for advice?  
  
It wasn't that he lacked competence as a military leader; quite the contrary. The trouble was that Revan, despite being the younger of the two, had always been unquestionably the stronger and more forceful personality – it was he who had rallied the Jedi to join the fight against the Mandalorians, he whose tactical genius and sheer determination had achieved the impossible and turned the tide of the war. Even though their rank was technically the same, Malak had come to view Revan as his superior by default, deferring to his orders and often seeking advice from him. Now, with their positions suddenly reversed, he felt confused and almost scared.  
  
He thought back to what he had seen earlier that night. Even though he had no particular sympathy for Mandalore, the memory still made him feel slightly queasy – the horrible scream, the stench of burning flesh... What had happened to tip Revan over the edge like that? He had never seen such fury in his face before, not even back when they had visited the planets devastated by the Mandalorians, or after his capture and torture by Mandalore's forces. But, it occurred to him, under enough strain even the strongest support would eventually break...  
  
He wondered, slightly guiltily, if he should have noticed the signs earlier. Certainly some of the other Jedi close to Revan had expressed concern about his increasingly withdrawn behaviour. But they had seen little of each other in the last few months – and besides, it wasn't as if he hadn't had problems of his own. The war had affected him as much as anyone else; no one could escape unscathed after living through something like that...  
  
He wondered briefly if he ought to check on his friend, just to make sure he wasn't doing anything 'stupid' – but then he realised that if Revan were even contemplating such a thing, he would instantly sense it through the Force. No, it would probably be best to leave him in peace until he felt ready to come back. For the moment, there was nothing to do but wait.

**........**

Revan sat alone on the floor of the dark room, hunched up, gazing unseeingly into the murky blackness outside the window. The distant sounds of battle barely registered in his mind; in any case, they would not last much longer. Soon, very soon, it would all be over.  
  
And what was left for him then? How foolish of him to imagine that he could simply return, sweeping back into Coruscant in a burst of glory, and expect everything to continue as it was before. Now that he had finally achieved what he had been struggling for these past four years, the stark reality of the situation hit him like a slap in the face; he could see himself standing in the Council chamber in the Jedi Temple, twelve pairs of eyes boring into him as they waited silently for an explanation. How could he possibly justify everything he had done during the war? How could he defend what he had done on that last night?  
  
It didn't matter whether they forgave him or not. He had broken every rule of the Order, violated every tenet of the Code, abandoned all the teachings that he had once believed in so fervently. And now, in what should have been his moment of triumph, he found himself forced to acknowledge what he had tried so long to deny: that he was no longer a Jedi.  
  
Suddenly he could see Bastila's face as clearly as if she stood before him; her voice echoed in his head, pleading with him to beware of the Dark Side. And now he could picture her reaction as she learned what he had done, the horror in her eyes as she shrank involuntarily away from him... he could never touch her again, not with hands stained with Mandalore's blood. He felt a sudden chill, as if icy water was trickling through his veins. Could it be that she had been right about him all along?  
  
No. No, he would not admit that. He might not be a Jedi any more, but he wasn't a monster either. Everything he had done had been for a greater purpose; he had been forced to act as he had, there was no other choice. All the deaths on his hands, save one, had been unavoidable... For a moment he remembered the terrible power flowing through him into Mandalore's twisted body, and he shuddered – but he stubbornly resisted the thought, pushing it to the back of his mind. It had been a moment of weakness, that was all...  
  
Suddenly he heard raised voices from the next room. A Republic army officer was speaking to Malak, and neither of them sounded happy.  
  
"What? _How_ could they let this happen?"  
  
"I'm sorry, sir." The Republic soldier's voice sounded weary and miserable. "I'm not sure exactly what happened. All I know is that somehow they managed to spot a weak point in our lines and break through..."  
  
Malak heaved an exasperated sigh. "And how many escaped?"  
  
"One of their capital ships, sir, and two squadrons – or what was left of them. We pursued them for a while, but they went into hyperspace..." The voices grew quieter again.  
  
Damn. _Damn_. An anguished groan escaped Revan's throat. So some of the Mandalorians had escaped – probably not enough to pose a threat, but who could tell? And he had hoped that killing Mandalore would end it all. Now he saw that it could never end, not while a single one of those... _parasites_ remained at liberty. It was like stepping on a nest of ants – however many you managed to crush, a few would scurry away and hide, only to return later on...  
  
He buried his head in his hands, trying to think. Two choices lay before him: he could turn back, or go on. But he was no longer teetering on the edge of the abyss; now he was hanging over it, clinging on desperately with his fingertips – forced to choose between attempting the slow, agonising climb back to the top, against all the forces dragging him downwards, or simply letting go and taking the plunge into the unknown.  
  
One last time he closed his eyes in an attempt to meditate, almost praying for guidance as he stretched out towards the Force, trying to sense the shape of the future. But there was nothing; he was utterly alone. He must make the decision himself, and once made, there was no way back...  
  
He sat there, unmoving, for what seemed like hours. Finally he stirred, raising his head, then slowly dragging himself to his feet. As he turned to walk out of the room, there was no longer any trace of confusion or hesitation in his face; they had been replaced by an expression of grim determination.  
  
Malak, still engaged in conversation with the Republic officer, looked round hurriedly as his friend entered the room. "Revan!" The relief in his voice was palpable. "Are you... feeling any better?"  
  
"Fine," he answered curtly, unwilling to go into further detail with the officer present. "What's going on?"  
  
Malak sighed, and the soldier cringed slightly. "Apparently part of the Mandalorian fleet managed to slip through our grasp after you and I left to launch the ground assault. They headed off towards unknown space." His face darkened. "When I find out who's responsible..."  
  
Rather to Malak's surprise, Revan shook his head dismissively. "Forget about it. We'll deal with it later." He turned to the officer. "How many prisoners have we taken?"  
  
"A few thousand, sir. They've been transferred aboard the capital ships for the moment." He hesitated. "Are they to be transported to the camps like the others?"  
  
Revan didn't answer for a moment. Then he said slowly, "No... not yet. I have a better idea. The only thing the Mandalorians respect is a show of strength." He smiled grimly. "So I suggest we give them one."

**........**

Dawn was breaking on the small moon, but the wrecked Mandalorian base was still shrouded in darkness. Smoke rose in billowing clouds from several enormous bonfires, saturating the air and blocking out the weak rays of sunlight. Piled high on the fires was debris of all kinds – armour, exotic weaponry, broken and twisted parts of battle droids, gradually warping and melting in the fearsome heat.  
  
A short way away stood row upon row of Mandalorian captives, bound and heavily guarded by Republic soldiers, who stood ready to blast anyone who dared move a muscle. The prisoners stood in silence, forced to watch as the remains of their once fearsome arsenal literally went up in smoke. Some of them made no effort to hide their resentment, grinding their teeth in anger and humiliation; others looked on impassively, or even with a trace of admiration.  
  
Through the haze of smoke walked Malak, carrying Mandalore's body. It was still dressed in the clothes Mandalore had been wearing when he died, and his wounds were clearly visible. Malak walked slowly and deliberately past the first row of captives, making sure they could see the hideous lightsaber scar in their leader's chest. Finally he walked over to one of the burning piles and tossed the body onto the fire as if it were a piece of rubbish, turning away as the flames began to lick at Mandalore's corpse.  
  
"There is your 'great leader'," he roared above the crackle of the fire. "And _there_ is the man who killed him." He pointed to the masked, cloaked figure who stood at a distance, arms folded, watching the proceedings in stony silence. "His name is Revan. Remember that when you tell your friends how you were defeated by the Republic."  
  
He marched off, vanishing into the smoke. Revan stood there a little longer before he, too, turned and walked away. The flames rose higher, engulfing the body of the Mandalorian leader. Soon there would be nothing left of it except a pile of ash, indistinguishable from the rest of the blazing wreckage.  
  
Malak found Revan standing alone in the shelled-out barracks, staring up at the sky. "Hello, Malak," he murmured, without bothering to look round.  
  
"The others are celebrating. Don't you want to join them?" Revan shook his head.  
  
"Go ahead if you want. I'm not in the mood."  
  
"Fair enough." Malak shrugged. "I suppose there'll be plenty of time when we get back to Coruscant..."  
  
"I'm not going back, Malak." There was a terrible calm in Revan's voice, a quiet resignation which was somehow worse than fear or despair.  
  
"What?" Malak's mouth fell open. "What do you mean you're not going back? Don't tell me you're afraid of the Council –"  
  
"I'm not afraid of anyone." His voice grew lower. "I'm finished with the Council."  
  
Malak gaped at him, utterly bewildered. "Revan, are you saying you're leaving the Order?"  
  
"I left it a long time ago, Malak." Finally he turned round and looked directly into his friend's eyes. "I realised that today, after what happened with Mandalore. I don't belong in the Order any more..."  
  
"Look, don't beat yourself up over that," pleaded Malak. "No one even needs to know about it. Things will soon return to normal when we get back –"  
  
Revan shook his head. "I've changed too much, and so have you. But you can go on pretending you're still a Jedi if you want; I'm going after the Mandalorians who escaped." For the first time, Malak saw the haunted look in his friend's eyes. "Do you want to risk something like this happening again, Malak? We have to hunt down every last one of those bastards, and then we have to find the Star Forge and destroy it before someone else like Mandalore gets their hands on it."  
  
Malak nodded reluctantly. "I suppose you're right..."  
  
Revan turned away again. "Anyway, you don't have to come if you want – no one does. I'm quite prepared to go by myself –"  
  
"Don't be a fool." Malak's voice almost shook. "You think I'd let you do that? I'm coming with you, and so will the others. You're the one who saved the Republic, Revan – if you think this is best then we'll follow you, Jedi or not."  
  
"Thank you." Revan's reply was almost too quiet to be heard. The two of them stood for a while in silence, listening to the distant sounds of cheering and laughter, as the sun rose higher in the sky.


	5. Epilogue

**Epilogue**  
  
Revan sat by the window of his cabin, watching the stars drift by. There were fewer of them now, here at the very edge of the galaxy; soon the ship would be outside the boundaries of known space, pursuing an elusive foe into uncharted territory. Who knew how long it would be before they came back? If they would ever come back?  
  
As Malak had predicted, most of the Jedi and soldiers serving under Revan had readily agreed to come with him. After his triumph at Malachor V, their loyalty to him was absolute – they would follow him to the ends of the galaxy and beyond. Those who had declined to come would return to the core worlds, taking the Mandalorian prisoners with them; it would also be their task to explain where Revan and Malak had gone, and why.  
  
To his shame, Revan had lacked the courage to tell Admiral Dodonna himself. He knew she would try to persuade him to return, and he couldn't bear to face her shock and reproach when he told her that it was impossible. He regretted the pain he would cause to her, and to his friends among the Jedi – but he no longer belonged in the Order. He was better off without them, and they were probably better off without him...  
  
_Forgive me, Master. Forgive me, Bastila._  
  
A cold, sick feeling of dread engulfed him – the same sensation he had felt on the night before that final battle. If only he'd heeded the warnings, if only he could turn back... but now it was too late. He lowered his head into his hands, tears stinging his eyes. He was surrounded by friends and well-wishers; yet never, in the whole of his life, had he felt so alone...  
  
Outside, in the vast, bleak emptiness of space, the last few tiny points of light flickered and faded into darkness. 


End file.
